A Little Boo Is Almost Due!

It was an ordinary Sunday back in February, when Eli and Amanda showed up at our house. This isn't unusual. They live just seven minutes away, so we get to see them all the time. I'm constantly grateful that four of our five kids live here in the valley. It's a blessing many parents don't have.

They were here only a few minutes, when with no warning at all, Amanda announced, "I'm pregnant!" Shouts rang out through the house. "What????? Seriously???? YESSSSSS!" 

"When? When is the due date?" I asked.

With a glimmer in her eye, Amanda responded, "October 31st."

Halloween is Amanda's absolute favorite holiday. Every year, she and Eli throw a big costume party with yummy food, fun games, and a million Halloween decorations (hyperbole acknowledged). They even managed to throw it last year, when we all had to stay outside and social distance:

Yep, Amanda and Eli's first child is due to arrive on Amanda's favorite holiday. Nice planning! 

The time between that Sunday back in February and today feels both long and short; it hasn't been an easy pregnancy for Amanda, but she continues to hang in there, and now, with just six weeks to go before they get to meet their precious little girl, it was time to shower them with love.

Inviting people into my home is my favorite. I love it when friends gather to share their lives, both the joys and the troubles. That's partly why 2020 was so hard. We couldn't gather. At least not physically. So I was super excited to host Amanda and Eli's baby shower. That said, I always need support in these things because of my sad cooking skills and my even sadder decorating skills. Luckily I had two friends to help me. Shulamith made deviled eggs and hot refried bean dip, and she chose and orchestrated both games. She also ran around with me all week to buy everything, and as always, served as my "calm" in the chaos. 

Then my creative friend Emily made a banner with baby items, even actual onsies (!) attached to it. So adorable! She also made yummy cream cheese fruit tarts and chocolate pretzel treats. She even brought pumpkins with pacifiers.  :-)

Amanda's sister-in-law Malorie made that delicious chocolate cake you see there, decorated with pink and orange to accent our Halloween theme. Mmmmmm!

Eli helped me feel confident in my choices. I wanted most everything to be a surprise for Amanda, but I ran everything past Eli to make sure I was on track.

Here are a few more highlights:

A little boo is almost due! These two are gonna be awesome parents:

"What is Labor Day?"

"What is Labor Day?" Shulamith's nine-year-old son Swen asked me yesterday. I told him it's a day to honor those who work, those whose efforts make a difference in society and in our lives. And that is true for sure. Then I began to think about how that definition widens and expands as it reveals itself in my own life. 

As a young child, I sat on the lap of my grandfather, A.F. Hartung, as he sang me the songs of the labor movement, the effort of those who came before me to challenge management, forcing them to pay fair wages and create decent working environments for their employees. Together, my grandpa and I sang "The Union is behind us; we shall not be moved. Just like a tree that's planted by the water, we shall not be moved," and "Solidarity forever; the Union makes us strong." 

That last song, "Solidarity Forever," happens to be sung to the tune of the "The Battle Hymn of the Republic," but as a kid, I'd never heard of the "Battle Hymn." The first time I heard my grandpa's "Solidarity Forever" with the words "Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord..." I boldly questioned my dad: "Why are those people singing about their eyes???" Through the years, this became a standing joke between my dad and me, and every time we heard the "Battle Hymn," one of us would ask the other that same question.

My Labor Days as a kid also always included the "Jerry Lewis Labor Day Telethon." Mr. Lewis hosted this fundraiser for the Muscular Dystrophy Association from 1966 - 2010, and I watched every year with my mom and my brother. She would let Tom and me set up a "party" in the living room in front of the TV, with a sheet, blankets, pillows, and copious amounts of snacks. Since the telethon went on for nearly 24 hours, we would try so hard to stay awake, as we watched the money amount grow, both locally and nationally throughout the evening. Eventually, sleep would win, first for me, but ultimately for Tom as well. We slept right there on the floor, and the instant we woke up in the morning, we would quickly turn on the TV to see how tired Jerry looked, and now much money he had raised.

Finally, the word "labor" brings to mind the process I went through to bring my five amazing children to earth. I remember in a birthing class with our firstborn, the teacher telling us "There's a reason they call it 'labor.' You're gonna work hard!" While absolutely true for all five births, that could not have been more accurate than the first time around, when I spent 18, challenging hours in labor to deliver my nearly 10-pound baby. Worth it? 100%. So much so that I went back four more times.

Nothing like those memories happened yesterday. I didn't sing labor songs with my grandpa or joke with my dad about why people sing about their eyes. They both live in Heaven now. I didn't watch the telethon with my mom and brother; it ended 11 years ago, and while both my mom and Tom still live in Portland, I live 800 miles away. 

And, no, I didn't have baby. 

But Labor Day 2021 was full of labor from start to finish. I got up, walked a bunch with Shulamith, then came home and started cleaning. With fall semester starting at my two schools where I have a total of six classes, I haven't had time to deep clean my house since before I went to Colombia. Eeeeeek, it needed to be cleaned. I scrubbed and mopped, dusted and vacuumed nonstop from 8:30 a.m. - 2:00 p.m. when I finally finished, and then I did school work for an hour until Shulamith was ready to walk again. Then Eli came over, and we worked on his seminary plans through the evening. By the time he Amanda were about ready to leave at 9:30 p.m., the three of us did another three loops around the neighborhood, and I ended the day with over 18,000 steps!

Labor Day, indeed!

The day I danced salsa: The tales of my days in Colombia

I won't lie; my travels in Latin America have been a struggle. My standards for comfort and cleanliness are desperately challenged there, and seeing such abject poverty and feeling helpless to do anything about it makes me sad. For example, have a look at this nightmare from when we were in Costa Rica! Eeeeek.

Gerald, on the other hand, would live in Latin America if he could. The two of us couldn't be any more different. His love for this culture has taken him to Guatemala, Peru, Ecuador, Costa Rica, Colombia twice, and Mexico three times.

In the olden days, I kept myself either pregnant or nursing pretty much all the time, so travel to developing nations wasn't an option. That, of course, is no longer the case. I've accompanied Gerald to Mexico, Ecuador, Costa Rica, and now Colombia. 

And Colombia is the best of all!

Really, though. This trip was by far the easiest and most enjoyable of any of the above-mentioned Latin American adventures. Here are the tales of my days in Colombia:

There is...

The day I flew to overnight via JFK: It was 10:00 p.m., almost fully dark, a layer of smoke hovering over the Salt Lake Valley, when Eli and Amanda drove me to the airport. By the time I left, both Gerald and Isaiah were already in Colombia, so I traveled alone. The red-eye flight was 100% full and I had a middle seat, making sleep nearly impossible. I spent four hours at JFK, where I searched high and low for Diet Coke but never found one, before boarding my final flight to Cartagena. Beyond exhausted, I landed mid-afternoon the following day. The line through customs was long, hot, and slow-moving, but I made it though to find my favorite Isaiah waiting for me on the other side. I was so happy to see him!

The day I climbed a fortress and toured a torture chamber: Isaiah is a history buff and has a particular eerie obsession with the darker periods of the human existence, so when Gerald mentioned the museum in Cartagena that includes torture devices used by the Catholic Church in the 1600s, he was all in! To see them, we had to climb and climb all the way up to the top of a gray, cement fortress. The smaller torture devices were unsettling enough, but when I walked out into a courtyard way at the top of the fortress and ran smack into a guillotine, I was more than ready to descend back down and out of there.

The day I danced salsa with two Erichsen men: Our hostel was possibly my favorite place in all of Colombia. I'd have been happy just to chill there all six days. Dedicated, meticulous workers labor constantly, sweeping, mopping, scrubbing, and sanitizing. As a result, the place sparkles! It even smelled clean. I spent many hours sitting out by the pool and surrounding courtyard, reading. I read three books in six days. These awesome lounging pads are way more comfortable than any chair or recliner, and I slept on them for at least two hours each night, under the stars, before going up to our room. 

One night, as Isaiah and I sat by the pool, a guy came and asked us to take a salsa dance lesson. He gathered up a few more people, and we were set. Salsa dancing is awesome and so easy. That is unless you happen to struggle with coordination. Isaiah tried so hard, and eventually began to get it (sort of?), but then Gerald came out and replaced him. Let's just say that, for Gerald, the struggle was real. For me, it was blissfully satisfying to actually excel at something. As we've established so many times in this blog, my skillset is woefully limited. But dancing? Yep, I'm good at that.

The day I didn't go to church: Whenever we travel, Gerald finds the closest ward or branch so we can go to church. We walked about 30 minutes to find the chapel but, sadly, no signs of life. It looked like the building might be under repair but no way to know. After walking 30 minutes in the warm, crazy-humid climate, my makeup had completely dripped off, so this is a crappy picture, but whatever.

The day I rode the Jungle Cruise ride but didn't go snorkeling: Gerald  scheduled a beach tour, which included lunch and snorkeling, along with plenty of time to swim in the warm, blue water of the Caribbean. It was a long walk to the meet-up site and an even longer bus ride to the beach. Then we trekked across the sand for miles in the heat, until we finally arrived at an open-air, bamboo hut, which provided welcomed shade. It was lovely, and we were so grateful.  They fed us a traditional Colombian lunch of fish (head included!), coconut rice, fried plantains, and salad. It was all so yummy!

This beach day also offered a "snorkeling" excursion. My prior snorkeling experience is limited, but it has always included a mask AND breathing apparatus, making it possible to float on the top of the water, face down, and breathe, while enjoying the underwater view of big, colorful, tropical fish. By this definition, what we did in Colombia was not snorkeling. Instead, a very cool guy took us on a boat across the water to a nearby a reef, handed us masks, and told us to get out. Then he gave us pieces of bread and demonstrated how to lure thousands of tiny, white fish up to the surface. These little guys came right up and nipped at our fingers to get the bread, but with no breathing apparatus, we had to hold our breath in order to see them. So not real snorkeling, but still fun. When we finished, the guy helped hoist Gerald and Isaiah back into the boat, using his hands as a stirrup, but he picked me up entirely, like a baby, and deposited me next to them. It was a delightful afternoon at the beach; we all enjoyed swimming in the warm water, but I think Isaiah enjoyed it the most.

The day I grieved along with the president: It was Monday afternoon, and the three of us sat outside a shopping mall, huddled around a table with our ears to Isaiah's cell phone. We listened as President Biden addressed the nation and explained his decision to withdraw U.S. troops from Afghanistan after our 20-year occupation there. It was heart-wrenching. No one felt it more than the president did. You could see it in his eyes. While there was no good decision in this situation, I believe he made the right one. That said, along with him and so many other Americans, I grieve the tragedy of the circumstances there.

The day I went to Walgreens: After landing in Cartagena and walking for a couple hours all around the city in intense humidity, Isaiah and I needed some bottled water. Have I mentioned that they don't have Diet Coke in Colombia? No? Let me mention that. They don't have Diet Coke in Colombia. What are two Diet Coke addicts like Isaiah and me to do? Bottled water! So we walked into a store called the Farmatodo, but really, it was just Walgreen's in disguise. It was situated on a corner, and once inside, I could have sworn I was back in the U.S. wandering around Walgreen's. This made me feel safe and at home and I just loved it, so we wandered up and down each aisle, in search of nothing (once we had our bottled water) but looking at everything. Here's a picture of the outside:

The day I ate at a restaurant named after my dog: Riding in the Taxi from the airport, I closed my eyes and gripped the leather seat for dear life, as we weaved in and out of traffic, cars everywhere, moving every which way, with seemingly no rules at all! PTSD from former trips to Latin America, anyone? At one point as we neared our hostel, I dared to open just one eye, and saw a restaurant called Crepes and Waffles. Now we all love crepes, and Waffles is our dog's name, so of course we had to go there. I can't adequately describe how good my Mexican crepe was, but here's a picture:

As it turned out, Isaiah made 100% of our dining choices, and I think that, in addition to our lovely hostel with a "Walgreen's" on the corner, Isaiah's food choices are what made this trip so much better than past ones. We simply ate the best food every day. From steak and potatoes to Wiener Schnitzel, from fish smothered in crab sauce to ice cream sundaes, from Ramen to seafood chowder, every bite was delicious.

The day I tested negative for COVID: Even though I already had COVID19 AND have received two doses of the Moderna vaccine, time stood still as I awaited the results of my nasal COVID test. Two masked, uniformed nurses showed up at our door Tuesday morning, carrying all the items needed to administer this test, which would make it possible for me to return to the United States the following day. Had I tested positive, I would have been forced to quarantine inside a Colombian hotel for 10 days. Yep, I was nervous. I enjoyed Colombia and I'm glad I went, but I was also ready to go home. Then I laughed at how much this test resembled a pregnancy test. One line for negative; two for positive. So grateful for only one line:

The day I steered a pirate ship in the rain at sunset: I thought it was just a photo op when the guy told me to come take hold of the wheel, but then when he kindly grabbed the wheel back to keep us on track, I realized I was actually steering the ship! Isaiah too.

We took this lovely sunset cruise aboard a pirate ship, but just prior to the "sunset" part, it began to rain. Hard. For awhile, we all went downstairs to stay dry, but eventually we came up again because we wanted to see the sunset and why let a little rain stop us. It was so pretty! Here we are drenched:

It was the best evening of the week, and here is one final picture to prove it:

The day I landed in Miami and went straight for a Diet Coke: I had not had a Diet Coke in six days. I can't remember the last time that would have been true. I landed in Miami late Wednesday night and went straight for the nearest food establishment, where I ordered a large Diet Coke on ice. So good. Then I flew on another plane to Phoenix, where I spent the night in a crappy Days Inn (only fearing for my life a little bit), and woke up at 5:15 a.m. so I could take my first hot shower in a week. Thursday morning I flew home to SLC, where Shulamith and Amanda greeted me at the airport, having sacrificed way too much of their time to come pick me up.

And those are the tales of my days in Colombia! 

Triggers

Here is a picture of Seth and his three best friends on their way to Los Angeles. The key point to keep in mind here is how fully alive they all look. This is very good. They are not dead. At least not yet.

Seth did not get a high school graduation trip. He left for his mission to Paraguay soon after graduating, and then had to come home four months early due to COVID, and face a shelter-in-place lifestyle for the next year. Now is his time. He's waited long enough. Still, a six-day road trip all the way to Southern California has made this mama a bit stressed. 

The night before they left, his three friends came over for a barbecue:

"Hey Kaden, Ian, and Romario, I have a great idea! For the next six days, every time you think about it, you should say, 'Seth, have you texted your mom lately?"'

They all agreed. And they've been true to their word too. I've heard from Seth several times every day since they left, thanks to these good, faithful friends of his. So far, they've spent one day at the ocean; attended the Sad Summer Fest concert, whose headlining band is Seth's favorite All Time Low; and gone to Six Flags. They seem to be having the best time, and I will be so so happy once they are back home safe.

That will put anxiety trigger #1 behind me; however, the night after he comes home, I face anxiety trigger #2 as I fly to Colombia to meet Gerald, who is already there. My past travel in Latin America has been...well let's just say I have mixed reviews. My standard of comfort and cleanliness makes life in the Third World challenging. I struggle most with the poverty, especially when it includes children. I want to bring them all home! So we will see how this trip goes. I have to take a red-eye flight, leaving at midnight Wednesday, in order to return in time to deal with my next anxiety trigger...

...MY BABY LEAVING FOR COLLEGE!

It's true. After taking online classes the past year due to COVID, Seth is finally able to move down to Orem and have a genuine college life at Utah Valley University. I am so happy for him, but I am so sad for me. Oh my goodness, I will miss him. He keeps reminding me that he was in Paraguay for nearly two years, but I don't know; that seemed different? Anyway, anxiety trigger #3 right here.

Alongside all that, I continue to try to help Shulamith manage Swen's T1 diabetes (trigger #4), and work to get the semester wrapped up and final grades submitted at both SLCC and UVU (trigger #5) before I leave the country (see trigger #2 above).

Then just two days ago, on my way to Eli and Amanda's house to watch the Olympics gymnastics finals, which Amanda had so graciously recorded for me, trigger #6 happened:

Can you even believe it? Like seriously, why does this keep happening to me? Remember this, for example? The other driver's insurance has already accepted liability, but I still have the hassle of taking the car to be repaired. 

So yeah, it's no wonder my dumb brain is having a heyday with all this. It was pretty bad one night last week, but the last couple days have been much improved. I got to serve in the temple both Friday and Saturday (my happy place!) and then I got to teach Relief Society today; teaching at church always lowers my anxiety.

I just ate a delicious steak that Mathew grilled for me, and my plan now is to lie in bed all evening and read. A book. Not student essays. Happy Sunday, everyone, and watch out for those anxiety triggers.

"Can I still get baptized?"

This was the question Swen asked his mom when they were in the hospital just over a week ago. In the middle of being poked and prodded by various medical professionals (and eventually, also by his parents), Swen still wanted to make sure that his baptism, scheduled for July 24th, would go as planned. It did.

Swen turned eight on May 26, 2020, right smack in the middle of the COVID19 pandemic. Everything was shut down, and rightfully so, with new cases in Utah up in the thousands daily. No one was attending church in person, so of course there was no Primary. Swen didn't get the opportunity to attend the baptisms of his friends as they turned eight; those kids who did get baptized during this time did so with only their immediate families.

Also, several people in Swen's extended family were extra cautious about the virus and chose not to gather in groups, even small ones and even with masks. Swen was already a bit nervous about baptism, and all this COVID stuff just exacerbated that worry, so it made sense for him to wait until life was more normalized and until he felt like the timing was exactly right.

Of course we had no idea he'd be diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes just one week before the scheduled day. "Of course you can still get baptized!" Shulamith replied. "You can do everything you want to do." We are blessed to live in 2021, when kids with T1 Diabetes can look forward to happy, healthy, full lives. It wasn't always like that, and we are grateful.

Swen's baptism was exactly as he wanted it. Being the center of attention in large groups is not his favorite, so he opted to invite just a few people. His mom conducted the meeting, and Amanda played the piano. Eli and I gave the talks, and Swen's grandparents offered the prayers. Mathew baptized Swen, and Shulamith and I served as witnesses. Mathew confirmed Swen the newest member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and we all ate donuts. 

Twenty years ago when Eli was baptized, our stake president in Mt. Vernon attended the service. As I was walking past him to sit down after the baptism, he whispered to me, "The angels are singing today!" 

I think they were singing for Swen yesterday as well.

One Brave Boy; Two Incredible Parents

"Is he going to the bathroom again?"

"Yeah, he suddenly needs to go all the time, it seems like. And he can't seem to get enough to drink."

"Hmmm. I wonder if you should get him tested just to rule out Type 1 Diabetes."

That conversation between Shulamith and me occurred Thursday, and by Friday morning, she and Swen were on their way to Primary Children's Hospital, where Swen would be officially diagnosed.

Well that escalated quickly!

She called Matt at work and told him to meet them at the hospital, and the three of them began a 2-day crash course in the logistics of managing this disease. They learned how to do a finger prick to check Swen's glucose level and to calculate the amount of insulin needed to correct the situation if his sugar is too high. They learned how to dose out how much insulin he needs depending on his predicted carb intake with every meal or snack. And they learned how to give him his insulin shot. They learned about highs and lows, keytones, the "honeymoon period," and insulin storage requirements.

Overwhelm much?

Then there is the emotional impact. They were told that all three of them would experience a grieving period, probably at different times and in different ways, but they would all experience it. Makes sense. In less than 24 hours, they went from normalcy to dealing with a manageable (but still scary) disease that cannot be cured. I think this was the hardest part for Swen, hearing that he would have this his whole life. That's kind of a long time when you're nine. 

But he was so brave. 

And so smart.

He takes his shots like a boss, and after only three days, he can already tell you which foods have carbs and which are carb-zero (meaning he can eat them at any time, as much as he wants, without insulin). He's learning how to decide whether it's worth getting a shot in order to have a cookie or some popcorn, or if he'd rather just eat some cheese or peanuts. In no time he'll be doing his own finger checks and giving himself his own shots. I have no doubt.

And Mom? She's drowning in all the emotions that moms experience when their children face difficult challenges: Why did this have to happen? Why couldn't it happen to me instead; I'd gladly take on this burden so Swen wouldn't have to. How will this impact his life, his future? What if I mess up and accidentally do something to harm him? How will Matt and I navigate our country's ridiculous healthcare system, and will we go bankrupt just keeping Swen alive? All the things.

So what's the takeaway here? There are several. The outpouring of support for Swen and his family from both friends and strangers alike has been amazing. Our gratitude for science, along with medicine that allows kids like Swen to have full, healthy lives, is profound. This is a hard thing. But we've been promised that we can do hard things and that we will have divine support and guidance along the way. Evidence of this has been undeniable.

One brave boy; two incredible parents. They've totally got this.

"It doesn't matter."

As I sat in the relief society room at my church in Mt. Vernon many years ago, the lesson focused on the doctrine of charity. This topic evolved into a discussion of the merits (or lack thereof) of giving money to people who are homeless and holding signs on the streets. As you can imagine, opinions were many, and some sisters voiced their concern that if they give money, it's possible that money might be spent to purchase drugs or alcohol, further exacerbating the person's problems.

At that point, one sister raised her hand to comment. I will always remember what she said that day: "It doesn't matter." Her point was that it doesn't matter what happens after we choose to give, if we do so out of charity, pure love, a grateful heart, and with the desire to serve our fellow humans.

This sister ultimately became a dear friend of mine, even though the two of us disagree about many things. You name any political issue, for example, and she and I will come down on opposite sides. She's conservative. I'm liberal. Yeah, that's basically it. And yet, we are friends. I love her, and she loves me.  

But that day in relief society, my friend and I agreed on one thing: "It doesn't matter."

Fast forward 20+ years, and as I wrote about here, Eli recently went through the application and extensive interview process to become a full-time seminary teacher. During this time, he was also teaching 5th grade at an elementary school, a 40-minute drive from his house. Just about every day, on his way home from school, he would see the same man standing on a traffic island, holding a sign asking for help. Each day, Eli would think about him. What happened in his life to lead him to this traffic island, homeless and hungry? Eli would think about how he, himself, would never be in such a position. He has too many people who love him and who would gladly take him in and keep him fed and warm, regardless of the circumstances. This gentleman was not so fortunate.

Oftentimes Eli would give this man a sandwich or a granola bar or anything he happened to have in the car. The man was always grateful. One day Eli made a decision. "If I am blessed to get this seminary position, I'm going to give this man $100, in $20 increments." Well, as you know, Eli did get the seminary job, but then he was so busy finishing up the school year while attending seminary preparation classes that time got away from him, and he didn't think to withdraw some cash for this man. Until he did. One day Eli went to the bank and withdrew $20 cash and put it in his phone case, but by then, school was over, so he wasn't driving that same route anymore. 

Then last Saturday, Eli and I happened to go to lunch at Zupa's in Sandy, right next to the traffic island Eli used to pass every day. And there he was. The same man. Holding a sign asking for help. Eli immediately got out the money from his phone case and prayed the lights would cooperate, so he could slow down enough to hand the gentleman the $20 bill.  

What happened next will be forever etched in my mind, along with a few other experiences that fill my heart and strengthen my soul. Eli reached out the window and handed this man the $20 bill. I will never forget this gentleman's countenance, which changed right before me. His eyes widened and a light came over him, a light of hope and gratitude. All he managed to say was a heartfelt "Thank you," before we were off to merge onto the freeway. 

Before he went to bed that night, Eli tucked another $20 bill in his phone case. For next time. I'm going to do the same, in case I ever come upon this man myself. Oh, and what did the man do with the money? I have no idea. I hope he bought himself a good dinner with yummy dessert and a Diet Coke. But again, I don't know. 

As Jeannie said so long ago, "It doesn't matter."